Iris
by DeadManSeven
Summary: A meeting in a coffeehouse, safe from the rain.


**Notes:** _This story is a challenge - not for me to write but for you to read. I have omitted pieces of the past; it is up to you to uncover them. A thankyou goes out to the person that showed me the past in the first place._

* * *

  
_But the beauty of this vision alone  
Just like yesterday's sunset  
Has been perverted by the sentimental  
And mistaken for love_

- Kowalczyk

* * *

  
**'Iris'  
**

Harry almost didn't notice she had walked through the door; he had arrived at the café early and had become engrossed in this younger couple sitting in a corner booth. Obvious lovers and oblivious to the world, they huddled together studying the menu. Quite frequently he would whisper something and she would giggle like a schoolgirl - she looked young enough to still _be_ a schoolgirl, actually - and Harry found it fascinating to watch. The pair were still in the forefront of his mind as he watched Hermione hang up her coat. It was raining heavily outside and her hair was matted down, reminding Harry of a day years ago - today's date, in fact - before she pointed her wand and charmed it dry.

She began talking even before she reached Harry's booth, sliding into the seat without giving a greeting. "I am _so_ sorry! Work's just been mad, the department's down five people, can you believe that? _Five_. I hope you weren't waiting too long - you weren't, were you?"

"No, it hasn't been long," he replied, and lifted his almost-empty mug. "Just one refill." Harry looked at Hermione - _really_ looked - for the first time, and saw her, a little out of breath and a stray raindrop that had dodged the drying charm sitting errant on her forehead. She reached up to brush the droplet away, and again an old memory threatened to surface, so he squashed it by changing the subject.

"You've done something with your hair," he said. Hermione stared at him for the briefest moment, and was then unable to contain her laughter.

"Is that a line? God, Harry, that's awful, you know my hair always looks like this."

He was genuinely puzzled. "You were in the Prophet the other week, it was shorter in the picture."

"Oh, that. That was work, again, this end-of-year thing everybody's a part of." Here Harry nodded, having skimmed the article. "I did something with it then and undid it after I'd gotten home and away from the cameras. It's a hassle, really - be glad you're a bloke with trademark messy hair, I'm glad I only have to do that once a year." Hermione dropped her eyes to read something on the menu, and Harry could hazard a guess at what she was thinking, having caught what she said.

"I almost didn't recognise you," he said, and then smirked. "Of course, I'm still not that used to reading Hermione Weasley; it looks funny."

She made a face at him, and then smiled. "It's funny to me, too. It's unreal, some days."

Harry's smirk grew to a full grin as he said, "To me you'll always be Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age," imitating any one of their Hogwarts professors who had praised Hermione.

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "Good God, don't _call_ me that!" She had tried to sound at least slightly threatening, but the giggles ruined the effect. "I'm going to call you the sodding Chosen One, for every time you say that."

"They're calling Ginny that, now," he remarked, still smiling, from behind his coffee mug.

"Oh, why?"

"Look who doesn't read the papers. You _must_ be busy." Hermione waved her hands at him, simultaneously gesturing for him to be quiet and to keep explaining. "She's doing some pre-match interview, and the Harpies' seeker's not in the best of shape, so the reporter asks her how the team hopes to do, and Ginny says the Kestrels' seeker will grab the snitch by accident and lose."

"I bet the papers had fun taking that out of context."

"It gets better," Harry said. "The game drags on for some mad amount of time, and the Harpies are up by exactly a hundred and fifty, but they're lower on the ladder overall so a tie will take them out of the semi-finals, and that's when the other seeker goes for the snitch." He paused a little for dramatic effect, having told this story extensively the past few days. Normally Hermione would be at most feigning interest in Quidditch talk at this point, but she still seemed interested: maybe it was because she personally knew someone involved.

"So what happened?" she asked.

"Ginny scored just as the game ended. They won, because of that last goal."

"I imagine that's somewhat of a rare occurrence."

"It's almost completely unprecedented. People have already started calling it a Weasley, like if you just get on the tube before the doors shut, you've done a Weasley."

"Everything's getting called a Weasley now." She sighed. "Harry, you'll have to change your name to fit in. It's unacceptable otherwise."

"Speaking of unacceptable." He gestured with his eyes to the couple in the booth by the window, who were both grinning guiltily at the waitress that had come to ask them if they wanted anything else. Hermione craned her head around in time to see them resuming their vigourous necking as soon as the waitress went to clear a different table.

"None too subtle, are they? They could at least go somewhere private," she remarked, mostly to herself. Harry was still watching them when she turned back around, and she tapped his hand. "Don't stare."

"Sorry," he said, smiling, and focused completely on her. For a long moment there was quiet between them; Harry had seen flicker in Hermione's face from when she was younger - from when they both were younger - and his mind drifted. Today was the one day of the year he thought the most of what should have been their last year in school, but instead they spent the days aimless and scared, alone all across the countryside. It had rained like this, after Ron left - non-stop rain, drumming outside their tent, broken only by restless thunder.

"Refill?"

From what seemed like a thousand years away, Harry returned to the diner. The waitress was at their booth now, a shiny coffee pot following behind her like an eager dog.

"Oh. Yes, thanks." He fetched his mug and, feeling warmth rise in his face, kept his attention on the waitress a little longer than he needed to.

"Coffee for you, miss?" she asked Hermione, who was looking over the back of the menu.

"Is there any tea?" Hermione asked, hopeful, as the coffee pot floated to the centre of the table and poured Harry's coffee.

"There's none on now, but I could start a pot, if you're right to wait five minutes."

"Brilliant. Oh! Can we get a slice of cake? Something that doesn't have chocolate in it."

The waitress looked a little taken aback by this method of ordering, but she recovered quickly. "There's a carrot cake today, and a sponge..."

"Carrot's good," Harry said, and caught Hermione's eye, who nodded. He turned back to the waitress. "We'll have that."

"With two forks," Hermione added.

"Alright. I'll get your cake and start that tea." As she left, Harry gave Hermione a bit of a look.

"Bet she's going to think we're here together now, two forks."

"You're not eating with your fingers, I forbid it," she retorted with an air of practicality. "Besides, she knows who you are."

Harry creased his brow. "She does?"

"Harry, she asked you for your autograph last year!" She smiled. "Terrible celebrity, you are."

"Sorry, my mind's just been miles away today," he said, and then realised how true that was. He was shifting his mug on the table when he noticed Hermione was looking at him rather intently.

"I still cannot fathom," she said, "How you can consider drinking your coffee like that. Would you please, just once, put in some milk and have it like a normal person?"

For a very brief second he could see the milk being stirred into the dark liquid in his mug, turning it a deep brown (like eyes, at a very close distance) and then to tan (like the skin of a tanned shoulder), but he pushed those thoughts from his mind. "At the academy it was black or nothing, everybody took it like this eventually." He paused. "Doesn't Ron have his black too?"

"On the very rare occasion he has coffee, and I assure you it is just as ghastly."

Harry laughed, and Hermione joined him. "It's great for keeping awake and alert. Constant vigilance."

"Tea's got just as much caffeine, you know," she said in a wise, worldly tone. "Probably better for nerves, too."

"Ah, but tea just doesn't have that rugged Auror quality to it."

"Which may explain my not being a rugged Auror."

They were both laughing when the waitress returned, with a slice of cake and a fat teapot in tow. "Your carrot cake," she said, "Enjoy."

Hermione idly stirred some milk into her tea. After the waitress had departed, she dropped her voice to a near-conspiratorial tone and confided in Harry with a bit of a smile, "She fancies you."

Harry glanced in the waitress' direction. "How can you possibly know that?"

"I can just tell. It's like a gift."

"Divining if strange women in cafés fancy Harry Potter or not?" One of his eyebrows was raised.

Hermione took a drink and said, "Only if I've got some tea."

"Bit of a rubbish Inner Eye you've got, isn't it?"

"Well, the Inner Eye is a bit of rubbish, so it suits me fine."

The younger couple - evidently having decided they were done with the café - walked past Harry and Hermione's booth, his arm around her waist. They both watch the couple leave, and it seemed like suddenly one of them must speak and break the silence, like the air was charged with lightning ready to crack and strike, but the moment passed just as abruptly as it arrived. Hermione offered Harry a smile, and he accepted it and gave her one in return, and they finished their carrot cake together, friends.

* * *

  
_It keeps invading all my private moments_

- Kowalczyk

_08-04-30_


End file.
